Stick With Me
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: A small moment from when they dated. "I could really get used to having you around here more often."


**Title: **_Stick With Me _(1/1)

**Universe**: Pre-_The Following_, 2005

**Pairing**: Claire Matthews/Ryan Hardy

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: A small moment from when they dated. "I could really get used to having you around here more often."

**. . .**

When she came back downstairs after putting Joey down for the night, she found Ryan in the kitchen, with his back to her, at the sink. At first, she thought he was just washing his hands, but then she saw the table was cleared and noticed he had a sponge in his hands.

"Oh, don't do that," she called out, hurrying to his side to stop him. "You don't need to do that, Ryan." But by the time she got there, it was too late to stop him.

"Already done," he told her, shutting off the water and drying his hands with a nearby rag. He smiled when she cocked her head to the side at him and frowned. "Get that hand off your hip," he laughed, pushing her gently to the side. "It took two minutes. Besides, you were the one that made dinner. The least I could do was clean up for you."

"I only made dinner because you're incapable of cooking," Claire reminded him.

"I wouldn't say 'incapable,'" Ryan replied, moving over to dry the plates he'd just washed. "That's a harsh word. I can cook. A bit."

She shook her head at him. "Making toast doesn't count as cooking, Ryan." She took up a rag of her own, and for a couple minutes, they worked side by side in silence, drying the plates and listening to the soft static from the baby monitor that sat on the island.

"He goes down quick," Ryan commented, nodding his head towards the little device after they'd put all the dishes away. Not a peep had come out of it in nearly five minutes.

Claire nodded, settling by his side after putting the rags in a pile beside the sink. She leaned her back against the counter. "He's always been a good sleeper."

"Through storms and everything?"

Claire nodded. "Thunderstorms only upset him when he's awake. When he was a newborn, he'd cry for hours. But once he's out, he's out. Even when the press were screaming outside my door, he slept through it all." She looked down at her feet. "I used to wish I had that talent."

"I don't think you'll need it much anymore," Ryan reminded her.

"Yeah, I know," she agreed. She lifted her eyes, looking around the kitchen as they stood there, in the back of it. She let her eyes trail over the large marble island, the hardwood floors, and the lush living room beyond. At first, she had been worried she might feel sick, living off the seemingly endless profits gained from the re-release of Joe's failed novel. But if the money let her son live in comfort and security for the rest of his life, she honestly didn't care where it came from. She even smiled a bit at the thought now; it amazed her how little she thought of her ex-husband these days. Just a couple years ago, he had been the only thing that consumed her thoughts. Day and night, she had thought of him.

But, she mused now, glancing over to Ryan beside her, she supposed she had better things to think about these days.

He caught her looking at him. "What?" he asked.

She shook her head, not wanting to talk about it all just yet. "Nothing," she said. "I was just..." She turned, moving to stand in front of him, between one counter and the other. Gently, she reached out and took one of his hands in hers. It was still warm and soft from the hot dishwater and she smiled at the feel of it. "I was just thinking how happy I am to have you here. How grateful I am that you're in my life."

He smiled at bit at that, she saw, but instead of looking to his mouth for a reaction, she looked to his eyes. They were the most expressive part of him, she'd learned, true windows to his soul. And in this moment, she saw them dance with happiness. "I'm grateful you're in my life, too," he told her, and she grinned when he squeezed her hand. He used his other to wrap around her back, and pull her closer. Before she knew what was happening, he'd spun her around and pulled her back against his chest to hug her from behind.

She closed her eyes when she felt his arms encircle her middle and his lips lower to the side of her neck. She shivered when his mouth lingered on a soft patch of skin just behind her left ear; that spot always made her knees go a little weak when men paid attention to it. She rolled her neck to dispel some of the shudders, inadvertently bringing her mouth closer to his. Without wasting even a second, he ducked down and captured her lips in his, kissing her until he'd made them both breathless.

"You should stay for dinner more often," she told after they pulled apart, still breathing a little heavy as she stared up into his eyes.

His stared back down at hers, unreadable for the moment. "Stay for dinner or stay for after dinner?" he asked. She could feel his arms tighten around her middle, strong and steady; she could feel his hands warm her skin through the fabric of her shirt.

"Both," she answered, and meant it. Sex, friendship—she didn't prefer one over the other with him. She wanted and needed both. "I want you for dinner...and for after dinner."

He smiled, leaning over to kiss her again, but was briefer this time. "I think I can do that," he said as he pulled away, his nose brushing against hers.

Her lips parted when his left, yearning for more, and she kept her eyes closed a moment, letting the feel of his mouth on hers linger before she opened them. "I mean it," she told him softly, placing her hands atop his, and turning her head to look right into his eyes. "I really could get used to having you around here more often. For more than just a weekend here and there."

His eyes lit up at her words, and just the sight of his happiness at the idea made her body warm with pleasure and hope. She hadn't felt this way in so long. "I really could get used to being around here more often," he told her.

She smiled, turning in his arms so she could more easily look him in the face. Though his hands moved from her stomach to her back, they still held her close. "Yeah?" she asked, running her fingers along the lengths of his arms as they rose from her waist to his shoulders. She liked that while the muscles in his arms weren't pronounced, she could still feel their strength when he held her. They made her feel surrounded, and safe. Watched over and cared for.

"For as long as you want me to stick around, I'll be around."

Claire shut her eyes, ducking her head so he wouldn't be able to see the look in them. It took her a few seconds to compose herself enough to face him again. "Do you really mean that?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't sound as hoarse to him as it did to her.

"I do," he answered. His voice was calm, apparently he didn't notice how he'd choked her up with just a couple words. "Honestly," he continued, "there's nowhere I'd rather be than here with you. So if you want me here, I'll be here."

Claire took a deep breath, forcing herself not to react too openly to that. There were so many things she wanted to say to him right now, including one very important thing, but she knew in her heart that now wasn't the right time to speak of it. They'd only been dating for a month. No one talked about the type of feelings she wanted to talk about after just a _month_.

But it hadn't really been just a month, she reflected. It had been years. Years of hell and confusion; years of her entire life being smashed apart; years of her struggling to somehow put it all back together while still missing vital pieces. And years of him being there, every step of the way, to help and support and sometimes, just be there. He hadn't always been by her side, no, not until she'd asked him to be—but once she had, he hadn't once backed down.

He hadn't shied away when she'd broken down crying time and time again. He hadn't left the room when she'd started screaming her head off about the unfairness of it all. He hadn't passed judgment when she'd talked and talked about Joe, unable to get him off her mind.

He hadn't said no when she'd told him to kiss her after the divorce went through.

He hadn't pushed her away when she told him, barely a minute later, that she wanted so much more than just a simple kiss from him.

But now, things were different. Nothing was simple anymore between them. It wasn't just about a hug or a kiss or a bout of sex. And it had never been about any of those things, not truly, not to her. It had always been more than that. And it had all always been building to something.

She didn't know how to tell him she was falling for him—or that she already _had_ fallen for him, as the case was. She didn't know when it had happened. Maybe that night he had kissed her for the first time and they had had sex for the first time, all in this very kitchen. Maybe the morning after, when they had woken up together in her bed and there had been no questions and no regrets. Maybe any and every moment between that day they'd met almost three years ago and tonight. It didn't matter when. It had happened. And there was no going back.

This was it for her: him. He was it, the end of the line. The last stop. There never was and never could be anyone else. Not just because she was done opening herself up to people—she was _completely_ done with that—but because, truly, no one would ever understand her and what she had been through like he did. Ryan was the one who had been there, and therefore the one who would always understand. The _only_ one. She so hoped he would someday understand how she felt for him, too, and prayed that, one day, he would even feel the same for her.

But she wasn't ready yet, to broach that topic, and she knew neither was he, so she stayed silent about it. Instead of speaking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his back. In a tight hug, she pressed her cheek to his chest, and relished in the way his arms automatically lifted to encircle her body. She smiled at the comfort of him as he surrounded her. When she didn't move out of the hug a second later as expected, and instead held tight to him, he asked her very quietly if she was okay.

She squeezed her eyes shut at the question. She wanted to tell him the truth, she did, but she knew now wasn't the time. She drew in a breath to speak, to tell him she was fine, and that he didn't have to worry, and as she did so, she felt him draw a breath, too. She then felt his strong arms around her, and his warm body against hers, and his heart beating steadily against her head. She felt him surrounding her, so firm and solid and familiar, and when he asked his question again, more insistent this time, she told him what part of the truth she could: "I'm perfectly okay, Ryan."

She would save the rest of the truth, the whole truth, for another day.

. . .

**Author's Note: **Reviews would be LOVELY! This one just randomly came to me while I was procrastinating doing homework. :) I would love to hear your thoughts below!


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